


Bull in a China Shop

by masi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi-sama has retired. His retirement is not going well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bull in a China Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Akashi Seijuurou.
> 
> Written from Akashi Senior’s perspective, family drama, mentions of minor character death, angst, fluff.
> 
> [our_flame_never_goes_out](http://archiveofourown.org/users/our_flame_never_goes_out) has translated this fic into Chinese [on this site](http://tieba.baidu.com/p/4643821082) (thank you!).

Akashi has repaired the fractured relationship he had previously with his son, but that is no reason for Seijuurou to move back into the mansion. Akashi may have retired, but he is not an invalid. He has a large household staff of beautiful women and competent men who can take care of him until the next heart attack comes and finishes him off. There is no reason for Seijuurou to move in with his boyfriend and play “house” with the aging father.

“You don’t have to stay,” the boyfriend says on the first night of the move, after Akashi has enclosed himself into the master bedroom and refused to come down for dinner. Nijimura is standing just outside the doors with Seijuurou, who has been trying to persuade him to join them in the dining room for about four minutes now. “You’re not working anymore, so you don’t need to be in Tokyo. Don’t you have like ten other houses all over the world?”

“Shuuzou,” Seijuurou says, “that was not helpful at all.”

“The food’s getting cold,” Shuuzou mutters. “And it’s kind of really good. You never told me your cook was that-”

Akashi calls out, “I told you, Seijuurou, these nouveau rich only care about luxury. All show and no substance. Quantity over quality. That kind of thing.”

“Let’s go, Shuuzou,” Seijuurou says.

And a common failing of Old Money is to search for love among the lower classes. Seijuurou hasn’t been able to escape that one. Like father like son. 

Akashi rings his chauffeur and arranges for a trip to the house in Kyoto tomorrow, 5:00 A.M. sharp. Then, he dry-swallows his pills for high blood pressure and cholesterol, his blood thinners, calls for a maid to make him a pot of chamomile tea. After the maid brings him the pot, he turns his scanner on. He has ten more pages of photos left to scan. He could have been finished by now, but he keeps lingering over each page, over each corner of each photo, remembering. He had considered not starting this project at all, but he opened this album a few weeks after Seijuurou had left for Rakuzan and noticed that the wedding cake in the very first photo was turning yellow. 

His levels of energy aren’t what they once were, so he hasn’t had much time to devote to this project. This activity is more therapeutic than anything else. Whenever Seijuurou is behaving particularly badly, Akashi will pick this album up and resume. This keeps him from saying or doing things he will regret. As an added bonus, once he has completed this project, he can transfer the photos into a digital picture frame and watch a slideshow of them whenever he wants. 

He slides out a picture of him, his wife, and their son at Stonehenge, him looking somber and severe while she posed next to him, her favorite sunhat at a jaunty angle on her head, Seijuurou perched on her hip and chewing on his fist. Akashi lays the photo on the scanner and watches his wife’s smile materialize onto the monitor.

***

Akashi settles into his house in Kyoto. He attends fundraisers and charity events, visits his old university acquaintances and sister-in-law, watches the news to make sure Seijuurou isn’t running the business to the ground. He wishes he had another son to rely on, one less unstable, one without that odd mixture of quiet tranquility and sudden incoherent rage. Whenever he steps into the foyer, he remembers that night years and years ago, his wife standing where he is, saying, “They want to know when we’re going to have another child.”

Her eyes were bright with amusement underneath the glittering lights of the chandelier. She peeled her gloves off, held them by the tips as she reached for her scarf. “They manage to work that question into every single conversation! I always tell them that Sei-chan is enough. Aren’t you, darling?” She slipped out of her heels and then bent down next to Seijuurou, pinched the child’s chubby cheeks, elicited a smile. She cooed, “You’re precious enough that Mommy and Daddy don’t need another child. You’re perfect.” 

She kissed Seijuurou’s cheek, and the boy frowned a little, rubbed off the faint red imprint.

“That stwicky,” he announced.

His lisp still appeared from time to time, particularly when he wanted attention, but his mother loved it, was laughing about it even then as she pulled Seijuurou into a tight hug. She had insisted on leaving the dinner early, wanted to come home to her son again. Sometimes Akashi thought that he did his best friend from university a disservice by marrying her, thrusting her into a world of fast money and fast friends and rigid rules, a life of glittering pretense. He was born into it, spoke the language, but her makeup was crackling along the lines surrounding her mouth that night, and her last trip to her mother’s house in Kyoto had lasted a week more than usual.

“Get some sleep,” he said, taking Seijuurou’s hand. “I’ll tuck him in.”

“You, or are you going to ask the nanny?” She arched an eyebrow. “Come with me, Sei-chan. You don’t like your father’s bedtime stories, anyway. His idea of a good story is a Grimm fairytale, which he will read to you in German. Honestly.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Or an inspiring tale about how it’s important to be better than everyone else.”

Seijuurou pulled his hand out of Akashi’s grasp immediately, pressed closer to his mother. 

“You’re spoiling him,” Akashi said, smiling. “Maybe we should listen to those people who like to nag you. Try for another child, hm? That way we can have one spoiled son and a second who is dutiful.”

“Your father is joking,” she assured Seijuurou as she led him up the stairs. “He does that sometimes. You’re all we need, understand?” 

And Seijuurou replied, “Yes. Mommy, I pick my stowy?”

Yes, Seijuurou was a good boy, a wunderkind. Intelligent, a fast learner. Curious without being obnoxious. Obedient. At his mother’s funeral, he sat perfectly still next to the nanny, his back straight and his eyes dry.

The only trouble Akashi has had when the child was in elementary school was the occasional complaint from teachers that “Seijuurou-kun was being a bit bossy in class today, please tell him it is as important to work with others as it is to lead them,” which of course Akashi never did because it would go against what he has been teaching his son. He wouldn’t have sent Seijuurou to school at all (the child received most of his education from his tutors anyway), but school provides a tough environment wherein children can learn valuable social skills. 

Perhaps too tough, he had thought only once, when Seijuurou’s left eye changed color as a result of team sports, of all things. However, a child isn’t meant to be kept at home and coddled. Not his only child. He needs a competent heir.

Yes, Seijuurou changed in his third year of Teiko, became rather rude, but then he chose to move to Kyoto for high school. Akashi was more than happy to see him go. The years in Rakuzan, and later Cambridge, were good for Seijuurou. He returned to Tokyo of his own volition and has taken a great interest in the business. So much interest, in fact, that Akashi has had to hand his position over to Seijuurou and go into an early retirement. His son, CEO at the age of twenty-three. The shareholders all love Akashi Seijuurou.

Rightly so: Seijuurou is a saint when compared to other privileged young men of his age. The sons of Akashi’s former business associates are constantly bringing shame to their family names by wasting money, throwing wild, scandalous parties that cause them to make headlines the next day, treating people badly, and delivering politically incorrect statements with great intensity on national TV. His own elder brother has been in and out of drug rehabilitation facilities for the past forty years. Onii-san was disinherited by their father, quite correctly.

Akashi misses his son a bit, after three months in Kyoto. Or maybe he misses Tokyo, the pulsating city. He decides to go back for a week, as a stopover before his upcoming trip to London, make sure Seijuurou hasn’t tore the mansion down and built a traditional-style house in its place. Seijuurou has traditional sensibilities, was always quietly critical of the Western décor in the mansion. In junior high, he went through a phase of eating only Japanese food for lunch. Their Italian cook had risen to the occasion magnificently, started making him elaborate bento boxes.

Akashi arrives at the gates of his property. The mansion is intact. He breathes a sigh of relief. The butler opens the front doors as soon as Akashi places a foot on the front pathway. That is a good sign too. He strides up to the doors, steps into the front hall, hands his hat to the butler.

And then he sees the first interloper. 

“Who is that?” Akashi snaps, glaring at the blue-haired young man who is standing by the kitchen doors.

“Oh,” the offender says, “it’s the old man.” And then he calls, “Oi, losers, time to clear out.”

Several young men and one young woman with bright hair converge in the entrance hall. Akashi experiences a moment of fear. His acquaintances have been telling him tales about how people have started to break-and-enter into empty mansions and live in them for months on end. Squatters are a rising problem. 

Perhaps these squatters have stuffed Seijuurou into a closet somewhere. Maybe they are in cahoots with Nijimura. Or with the butler, who is currently hanging Akashi’s hat up, poker-face firmly in place. 

Before Akashi can pretend to reach for a weapon and demand to know where they are keeping his son, Seijuurou appears. He does not have any visible knife wounds, and no one is following him with a knife pressed to his back. Akashi exhales in relief. And then he is very, very angry.

“You’ve been having parties here, have you?” he snaps at his son.

The gigantic purple-haired one, the pretty blond, the green-haired one with glasses, and the pink-haired woman immediately walk out the doors. The blue-haired one follows, smirking at Seijuurou. And then Akashi spots another person, this one a little bit shorter than Seijuurou and with eerie protuberant eyes. This guy says, “Nice to finally meet you, Akashi-sama.”

Seijuurou says, “You can’t use him for your stories, Tetsuya. Unless you want to be sued for libel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Akashi-kun,” Tetsuya replies, looking Akashi up and down. 

The butler finally closes the doors behind the group. Now that his panic has passed, Akashi realizes that he has seen those young people before. Or photos of them. 

Akashi turns back to Seijuurou. “Why were they here?” he demands.

“We were having a reunion,” Seijuurou replies. “It was more convenient to have it here. How was your trip?”

Akashi remembers a time his son would think twice about speaking in this manner. He remembers a time his son had no friends to bring home. Seijuurou was always a quiet, lonesome child who spent his time doing sensible things like riding his horse and playing shogi and being better than everyone at everything.

“What are you doing home at this hour?” Akashi says, stuffing his feet into his house slippers. “It is merely three o’clock.”

“I am working from home today. How was my aunt?”

“As can be expected. Tell the cook to make me tea. And then get back to work. Our stock dropped by a point yesterday, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Akashi walks into the dining room to find that his favorite suit of armor has been removed. He stares at the empty space. The framed photo of his family remains on the cabinet, but the suit of armor isn’t there. He starts shouting.

A maid rushes in, asking, “What’s wrong, Akashi-sama?”

“Who moved the armor?”

She wrings her slim hands. “Um, um, we-”

“Who authorized you to move it?” He can feel his blood throbbing in his head. He tells himself to take a deep breath. The last thing he needs is to have a stroke and become paralyzed. It will be most painful to lie in bed while further atrocities take place within the house of his forefathers. 

She whispers, “Nijimura-san.”

***

Akashi has just called Nijimura into the privacy of the flower gardens when Seijuurou arrives, pushing his sunglasses up over his head, frowning. “What are you two doing?” he asks. Followed by, “Why are you upsetting him, Father?”

“Me, upsetting him?!” Akashi can’t believe his ears. “I haven’t even begun speaking yet! By the time I’m done, he’s going to wish-”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence,” Seijuurou says, tone more frigid than Akashi has ever heard it.

Nijimura says, “Sei, go inside. I’ve got this.”

The nickname was easy on his tongue, like an affectionate habit. He sounded like Akashi’s European friends do when they are saying “love” or “ma chérie,” and the result is that the tension has gone out of Seijuurou’s shoulders. He has his mother’s shoulders, narrow-set, strong. He does not have his mother’s good taste in men.

Akashi says, “Your boyfriend is the one who upset me by moving the suit of armor. Am I not allowed to speak to him about that?”

“The suit of armor that used to be in the dining room?” Nijimura raises an eyebrow. “It was hideous. And I thought you had moved out. We can always move it back, shit, no need to get so upset.”

He makes a little face, that annoying thing he does with his mouth. Akashi can’t understand why Seijuurou has chosen to like this guy of all the people in the world. Nijimura is an uncouth young man with nothing to recommend him. He stepped out of his flashy red convertible a few minutes ago with a crooked tie and both of his shirttails hanging out of his pants.

Seijuurou first started interacting with Nijimura in a perhaps un-platonic way in his Rakuzan days. Akashi heard from trusted, discrete sources that the two were playing basketball together on street courts and standing a little closer together than strictly necessary after the games. Seijuurou continued to meet Nijimura during university holidays, mostly at cafés. They lived together in an apartment in Azabu for about two years. And now they are here. 

Akashi says, “What are you going to do next? Put a kotatsu in the dining room? Put a koi pond where I am standing right now?”

“Please, Father,” Seijuurou says. “May we go inside? Shuuzou and I both had a long day.”

“You were home all day. Entertaining your friends. Probably playing online shogi in your study after I sent them home. And then you went out for a meeting that lasted, what, only ten minutes? When I was working, I would stay in my office all day. I don’t see you doing that, boy. And what does this bastard do?” Akashi glares at Nijimura. “Play with computers all day.”

“Playing with computers,” Nijimura snaps. “Yeah, right. I have so much -”

“How very unlike you, Father,” Seijuurou says. He opens one of the French windows that lead into the breakfast room, steps inside, waits with his fingers pressed against the glass. “Your insults had more finesse back in the day. Perhaps we are all tired.”

Akashi follows his son into the house while thinking about how to alter his will. Leaving the house to his favorite chauffeur seems like a good idea. Or that pretty blonde maid who is always willing to rub him down when his joints are aching.

He hears Nijimura asking Seijuurou about the armor, if it should be moved back into the dining room, but Akashi tunes out the rest. He goes up to his bedroom and turns his scanner on. Tonight’s photo depicts Father, Mother, and Baby Boy waving from the Golden Gate Bridge. His wife looks so young in that picture, as if she will live forever. He wonders whether the tumor was already forming at the time, just inches away from the back of her right ear, where he would kiss her upon waking up. The sunlight starting to fill the room, warming her sleeping face, sliding over the tip of her nose and dipping into her parted mouth. And he would kiss her there too, kiss her until she woke up and wound her arms around his shoulders, press him into her sleep-warm body, murmur sweet nothings to him. 

***

Akashi tells the butler to tell Seijuurou not to bother with the suit of armor. It can stay in the hall. He books a one-way ticket to England. The next morning, he heads out with five suitcases. He is going to stay in London for as long as he can, and when he is tired of the fog and rain and his posh cousins, he will visit another city, another country, anywhere but here.

***

He spends two months in London, visiting family, going to auctions, and attending conferences, fundraisers, and charity events. Then he decides to go for another European tour (his fourth, this time sans friends, wife, son, that one girlfriend who had been fond of Seijuurou and whom he had thought he might marry and then couldn’t in the end). He is tired of the cold British winters. His joints ache, and he stayed in bed until noon one day, something he has not done since he was a child and ordered by his mother to sleep off a fever. Before leaving for his trip, he scrawls a quick “Happy Birthday” on the back of a postcard of London and mails it to Seijuurou. 

After a long, leisurely tour wherein he meets and has excellent conversations with urbane women who wear Chanel No.5 like his wife used to, gorges himself on high-cholesterol foods, celebrates his fifty-fifth birthday, shakes his head over Seijuurou’s gift, which is a postcard of Tokyo with “Happy Birthday Father” written on the back, Akashi returns to Tokyo. 

More adjustments have been made to the mansion. New furniture in almost every room. A kotatsu has been added, not to the dining room, but to the room next to it. 

A teenager is seated at the kotatsu, drawing what looks like cherry blossoms and a young couple kissing. His fingertips are stained with charcoal. The cherry blossoms look very realistic. Akashi remembers scanning a photo of him and his wife sitting underneath a cherry blossom tree. She was laughing as she plucked petals out of his hair.

The teenager stares at Akashi in dazed fascination until a maid comes and gently escorts him into the kitchen. She informs Akashi later that the guest was Nijimura Shuuzou’s younger brother; he was staying at the house for his winter break but has been sent home now.

A few adjustments have been made to the household staff. It is smaller in size. The blonde maid remains employed. How nice of Seijuurou to keep her.

He tells Seijuurou at dinner that night, “I am staying for a month. Make sure I do not regret it.”

“Yes, Father,” the boy replies, from his rightful position at the foot of the table. 

Seijuurou is holding his utensils correctly tonight. Nijimura is also on his best behavior. He was silent throughout the first course and has made a ridiculous face only three times since he entered the room. Akashi cuts into his steak. The meat is soft and juicy in his mouth.

A phone rings. Nijimura reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone. He leaves the room without asking to be excused.

“Barbarian,” Akashi says.

“You’ve done the same when you were working,” Seijuurou replies, sips his water.

“When are you going to tell him to leave?”

Seijuurou raises an eyebrow. He does not answer. Later that night, while Akashi is trying to find a book to read from the library, he spots the two of them out in the gardens. They are sitting on the ledge of the fountain, Seijuurou with his arms and legs crossed, Nijimura with his arms back, hands splayed. Seijuurou’s mouth is moving more often than Nijimura’s. Akashi wants to open the window to hear their conversation, but Seijuurou has sharp ears and will hear the click of the latch. 

After awhile, Nijimura leans over and kisses Seijuurou on the mouth. Seijuurou puts his arms around Nijimura. Akashi goes up to his bedroom. 

He lies awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He is still awake when he hears Seijuurou and Nijimura coming up the stairs. They are whispering and making sloppy, wet noises. One of them bangs into the wall. One of them laughs. Seijuurou starts murmuring, very soft and loving. Akashi covers his ears with his pillow.

***

A week into Akashi’s stay in the Tokyo house, Seijuurou announces, “Shuuzou is working at our company now, Father.”

A tremor goes through Akashi’s fingers. He sets his cup down on the breakfast table and takes a deep breath.

Nijimura is currently lounging on a chair, wearing a pair of rainbow-colored shorts, a rainbow-colored wristband, and a Lakers jersey. He is a head taller than Akashi even when seated, damn him. He helps himself to another pancake and pours a generous amount of maple syrup onto it. 

When he gets started with the whipped cream, Akashi says, “Him? Why? Was he fired from his former company?”

Nijimura glares at him. Akashi continues, “I wouldn’t be surprised. Once a failure, always a failure. Weren’t you ousted as captain of the basketball team at Teiko after my son joined the team? Has something similar happened at your company?”

“I chose to quit the team,” Nijimura snaps. “My decision. And that was years ago.”

“One cannot simply erase ones failures. No amount of victory can make up for one’s past failures.”

“That’s bullshit.” The boy is turning red. “How can you just say shit like that with a straight face? You’re the reason Seijuurou has so many shitty problems, you know that, right?”

“Shuuzou,” Seijuurou says. “You’re not helping. Finish your breakfast.”

Nijimura picks up his mug of coffee and stomps out of the room. 

“That’s whom you hired?” Akashi snorts. “He lacks basic communication skills. I was clearly mistaken when I thought you were finally competent enough to run the business.”

Seijuurou places his cup on the table, lets out a sigh. He says, tone weary, as if he is dealing with a tiresome toddler, “Shuuzou won’t be involved in any business matters. He has joined the IT department, on my request. He never asked for the job.”

“Whom did you get rid of to hire him? An employee more valuable than him, who has been with the company for years, correct?”

“I did not get rid of anyone.”

“You’ve created a new position then? What does the Board have to say about this? Have the shareholders started selling their stock yet?” Akashi reaches for his phone. “I haven’t checked the market yet. I should fortify myself with a few pills first.”

“And, Father,” Seijuurou continues, “please don’t mention Teiko and captaincy in front of Shuuzou ever again. He had to resign his captaincy because his father, who is now deceased, was ill. He isn’t a failure.”

“How strange that you defend him even after he said that you have problems. What’s next, you’re going to kiss up to the press after they slander you?” 

“He wasn’t incorrect,” Seijuurou replies.

“You’ve got it bad, boy.” Akashi shakes his head. “Fine, keep your boy toy. But I want you to marry a woman who can give you an heir. Who are you going to leave our business to?”

“I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Finish your breakfast, Father. Don’t forget your morning medication. Now, please excuse me.”

Seijuurou stands up and then walks out of the room, his back and shoulders stiff.

***

Akashi travels to Osaka, attends fundraisers and charity events. He considers staying in Osaka for the rest of the year, but it is too quiet in the big, rickety house. The people who visit him are annoying busybodies, full of questions about his son, still parading potential wives in front of him, one for father, one for son. The days crawl to a close.

He returns to Tokyo.

The basketball court behind the house has been renovated. It takes up twice the area it once did and is occasionally used by those boys with bright hair. Nijimura’s brother is a frequent visitor too, and a particularly annoying one: instead of staying on the court, he wanders around the house staring at the suits of armor, the collection of antique vases, the paintings, and at Akashi. He needs a harsh reprimanding, but Seijuurou is fond of the boy and won’t take kindly to this course of action.

However, Akashi feels the need to say, after seeing Seijuurou’s blue-haired friend (“Aomine Daiki,” a maid informed him, “he and that Kagami Taiga are always coming into the kitchen and demanding food”) take his clothes off and jump into fountain, “The only reason I am allowing you to stay in this house, Seijuurou, is because it is tradition for the CEO of our company to use the Tokyo house as his main seat. I started living here when I became CEO, as your grandfather did before me, as your great-grandfather did.”

Seijuurou replies, “Yes, Father, I know,” and resumes eating his dinner, while Nijimura sits in his chair with an appalled look on his face.

The living situation is not completely horrible, Akashi realizes after a month. The only extended periods he has to be with his son and Nijimura are the evenings and sometimes breakfast. Occasionally, Seijuurou is gone for the weekend to attend an event, and Nijimura either accompanies him or stays at his mother’s place; Akashi has the house to himself then.

There are awkward moments, of course. Akashi sometimes walks in on them being embarrassingly affectionate to each other. Nijimura in the room with the kotatsu, resting his head on Seijuurou’s shoulder, or once in Seijuurou’s study, leaning over the desk and running his tongue over Seijuurou’s collarbones. Another time, Akashi walked into the library to find Seijuurou kissing Nijimura up against the vintage volumes of the _Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ , Nijimura’s hands down Seijuurou’s pants. However, Akashi hasn’t seen anything too explicit yet. Or heard anything either; his bedroom is in a different wing of the house and the boys haven’t been loud on the staircase since that night long ago. 

As the weather turns warmer, he begins to visit his Tokyo acquaintances more often. They are more tolerable now that they have retired. After a pleasant evening at the house of a former CEO who was in the steel manufacturing business, he decides that he should invite his new friends over more often. He really enjoyed hearing that they are also suffering at the hands of their children’s spouses and companions. 

He polishes his chess skills by playing a few games online, has his stylist touch up some of the gray strands nestled in the otherwise vibrant red hair, and then he arranges for a garden party for his chess-playing mates.

He is smoking a cigar in the garden the evening before the party, sketching out a seating chart, and watching the horizon, when Nijimura appears. 

“Ah,” Akashi says, “you’ve escaped your leash.”

“Aaand arrived right at the pound,” Nijimura replies. He pulls out a chair and sits down, only about three feet away from Akashi. “The really shitty kind, you know, where they put the dogs right to sleep.”

“You have something to tell me?” Akashi puts his pen down. “Make it quick.”

Nijimura shrugs a shoulder. “Not really. How’re the plans for your party coming along?”

“Who told you about the party?”

Nijimura rubs the space between his thin eyebrows, exhales. “Look, Akashi-san, we have to call a truce. There’s no reason to be so hostile. We’re both here for the same reason, aren’t we?”

“What, to smoke in the garden?” He opens his case of Cuban cigars, slides it towards Nijimura. “Cigar?” 

“I don’t smoke.”

“Can’t handle it?” Akashi smiles.

Nijimura heaves another sigh, picks up a cigar, rolls it between his fingers. “Where’s the lighter?”

Akashi holds out his lighter, and then reconsidering, says, “Put the cigar in your mouth and come closer.” 

When Nijimura edges over, eyes wary, Akashi lights the cigar, says, “That’s the spirit.”

The boy inhales and then starts coughing. 

Seijuurou arrives to glare at Akashi. There was a time Akashi would take offense at this, but either the nicotine or his old age has tempered his mood. 

Seijuurou holds his glare in place until Nijimura stops sounding like he is trying to hack up a lung. Then he looks away, jerks the cigar away from Nijimura’s hand. “That’s enough,” he says. “Come along, Shuuzou. You have to get ready for Ryouta’s party, remember?”

***

The garden party starts off without a hitch. The grass has been trimmed to the right length, the bushes to their right shape, the lanterns put in the right places. The guests arrive on time. Akashi wins all the of the chess matches he plays. The guests do not grumble about the seating arrangements. During the dinner, one man’s false teeth dislodges from his mouth and clanks onto a plate, but the woman next to him makes a lighthearted joke, thus restoring the pleasant atmosphere.

The guests linger, taking their time over the dinner and then tea, talking about their children. A former defense attorney informs them that his daughter-in-law has started making noises about sending him to a nursing home. He is trying to find a way to sue her. 

Seijuurou and Nijimura make an appearance towards the end of teatime, as Akashi had instructed them to, greet the guests politely, thank them for coming, and then return to the house. Akashi hears some of the guests speculate quietly about the boys, but they stop soon enough. He is relieved that he does not have to reprimand anyone. Angry lectures from the host always have a way of dampening the spirit of a party.

After the guests leave, Akashi lights a cigar, leans back in his chair and looks up at the stars. They are very distant, little white pinpoints in the dark canvas of the sky. The stars are brighter in Hokkaido. Once on a trip there, his wife had convinced him to go outside with her and lay on the grass. Akashi dropped off to sleep while listening to her overly erudite speech about the constellations.

He is halfway through his cigar when Nijimura joins him. Nijimura has changed into a pair of shorts. He sits down on the next chair to Akashi. 

Akashi looks at Nijimura, the skin taut over the high cheekbones, at the tidy dark hair, the angry gray eyes. The boy isn’t unhandsome. Nowhere near as beautiful as Seijuurou, of course, but not too horrible up close. He is built along solid lines. He has a certain je ne sais quoi about him. 

“When I’m gone,” Akashi says, tapping ash out onto his 24 carat gold ashtray, “you need to take care of Seijuurou.”

After a moment, Nijimura replies, sounding surprised, “Alright.”

“I am going to hold you to that promise. I’ll have my men watch you very carefully. You ever hurt my son, and they will rip your balls off. Good?”

Nijimura laughs. Akashi says, “I’m not joking.”

“Man, I wish your son was here to hear you say that. He’s holed up inside with his paperwork.” Nijimura jerks a thumb in the direction of the house and then scratches his head. He continues, “Alright, let me get one thing clear. You don’t have to tell me to look after your son. Alright?” He nods at Akashi. “Cuz I’ve been doing that for years and certainly not for you. Seijuurou means a lot to me. And you mean a lot to him, so can you please tell him, for just once in your life, that you’re proud of him?”

Akashi examines his cigar. He wants to put it out on Nijimura’s face. Right there, on his upper lip. 

Akashi was trying to tell Nijimura not to break Seijuurou’s heart, to not leave because that would ruin that child, leave only a shadow of what was once there (again, like father like son), and Nijimura misunderstood. Worse, he is finding fault with Akashi again, trying to tell Akashi how to do the one job he has faithfully done since Seijuurou’s mother died. 

Violence, however, or telling Nijimura that it is very highhanded of him to find fault with Akashi’s parenting when his own little brother is left to drift about aimlessly, is not the right answer. It will upset Seijuurou. The boy might decide to move out, leave Akashi alone in the Tokyo house until the next heart attack arrives. He isn’t allowed do that, not after all these months of annoying Akashi.

And anyway, Seijuurou’s mother would want Akashi to be gentle and understanding with their son’s boyfriend. She would have probably liked Nijimura as a potential son-in-law. Her other friends back in university were much like him, loud, uncouth, no respect for personal boundaries, no concept of what it means to mind one’s own business.

Akashi says, loudly and clearly so that his son’s idiot boyfriend can understand, “Parenting is not easy. I did my best with Seijuurou.” 

“All I’m saying-”

“No, let me tell you something, boy. I’ve already told him that I’m proud of him, and I tell him that everyday by letting him run the company and keep the Akashi family name.”

“Letting him keep the name?” Nijimura frowns. “Fine, whatever. I’m not even going to start on that. But you could, you know, act a little nicer to him. You’re the only father he has. You want him to remember you fondly after you’re gone, right?”

Akashi’s own father never showed any affectionate behavior. It could be because he was always more fond of the addict. However, the important thing is that he left all of his money and the business to the second son. That is all the love Akashi ever needed from his father. Children these days and their constant demands for attention and vocal love. 

There is a chance that Nijimura is wrong about Seijuurou’s feelings, perhaps he is projecting, but there is also a chance that he is correct. People in love can usually anticipate each other’s needs fairly well. Seijuurou’s mother always knew when Akashi was upset about Onii-san and would try to cheer him up. 

“Alright,” Akashi says, standing up. “I am going to be nice to my son. Lead the way, Nijimura.”

Nijimura falters for a moment, clearly suspicious, but then he gets up with a pleased “awesome!”

On reaching Seijuurou’s study, Nijimura pokes his head in, says, “You got a moment?”

Seijuurou says, “Five more minutes. I will meet you in the bedroom, Shuuzou.”

The back of Nijimura’s neck turns very red. “Yeah, that’s fine, but that’s not what-”

Akashi pushes Nijimura aside, says, “He said he will meet you in the bedroom. Go take a shower and light some candles.”

Seijuurou’s eyes are very wide when Akashi steps into the room and closes the door. “Well then,” Akashi says, rubbing his hands together. “Why don’t you finish the rest of your work tomorrow morning? And learn how to manage your time better. Why is it so dark in here?”

Seijuurou touches the button under the desk, and the overhead lights switch on. He blinks a few times. Akashi walks over to the desk, flips through a few reports, looks at the oil painting of Seijuurou’s mother hanging on the wall, glances at the screen of Seijuurou’s laptop. 

“How may I help you, Father?” his son asks, tone polite.

Akashi replies, “You already are,” and then, before he can reconsider, reaches out and ruffles Seijuurou’s hair. 

Seijuurou stares, mouth hanging open. After several long moments, he knits his fingers together, says, “Thank you.” 

Akashi clears his throat, says, “Well, good night.”

He finds Nijimura sitting on the stairs. Akashi ruffles that boy’s hair too as he steps past him. Why not. The action requires very little energy but seems to make the children happy. 

Akashi walks up to his bedroom, closes his door, and turns his scanner on. He has three pages of photos left. With careful fingers, he slides out a photo of Seijuurou holding his first basketball trophy. Seijuurou’s parents are standing behind him, the mother beaming at the camera, the father smiling at the mother.

***

After the photos load and he has watched the entirety of the slideshow three times, Akashi asks a maid to place the digital photo frame into a box and wrap it up. He arranges for a Japanese-style breakfast to be served on December 20 and tells Seijuurou, a week in advance, to clear his schedule for that morning. 

Nijimura comes into the breakfast room first. Akashi hands the gift over, says, “I have many important things to do today. Give this to Seijuurou for me, after I’ve left the premises.”

“But-” Nijimura begins.

“Just do as you are told, boy. And go change your clothes. You should be ashamed of yourself, coming down for breakfast in your pajamas.”

Akashi leaves the house. He visits Onii-san first, hands him a check with the rote request: please don’t use it for drugs. He visits his wife afterwards, cleans the grave, tells her that her son is doing well and that they have acquired an interesting new family member. 

He does not return until dinnertime. Before entering the dining room, he washes up, changes his tie. When he steps inside the room, he finds the digital photo frame propped up next to the framed photo of his family.

He is watching the photos slide by when Seijuurou and Nijimura walk into the room. Both are wearing ties and cufflinks. Seijuurou really has grown up to be a fine young man, Akashi reflects. He was such a tiny newborn, a little bundle in his mother's arms. Twenty-five years old now, with so many accomplishments under his belt, so much poise, kinder than Akashi ever was. 

Akashi asks, to break the awkward tension in the room, “Where are you two dining? Please tell me it’s at a good establishment and not at one that is all pizzazz and no substance. But knowing Shuuzou, he probably booked a table at the latter, so Seijuurou, find a nice place and tell them I sent you. They will give you a table.”

“Sei always likes the places I pick,” Nijimura says, pulling out his chair. “And we’re dining here tonight. You’re stuck with us.”

“Are you really that cheap?” Akashi replies, trying not to feel too pleased. “Or just a homebody? I had much more energy at your age.”

Seijuurou says, “We are going out after dinner. And, Father, thank you.” He gestures towards the digital photo frame. “I haven’t seen these photos of Mommy before.”

“Yes, well, I hope you will give me a sufficiently adequate gift on my next birthday.” Akashi clears his throat, glances at Nijimura. “And you, boy, you haven’t told me when your birthday is. I think I will send a gift to your mother that day as consolation for having put up with you for so many years.”

“Very funny.” Nijimura touches Seijuurou’s hand. “Hey, I think your old man’s grown fond of me. Happy birthday, Sei.”

Seijuurou replies, smiling, “Thank you both.”


End file.
